Well, it's the raw regees, thoroughbred from Philly
My name Black Thought, my girl's the Black Lilies
Some people try to front like, "I ain't feelin' it really"
But that's silly, 'cuz how the fuck you can't feel me?

When I first felt it, I knew it had to be dealt wit'
A lot of ice-grillin' in the house got melted
Some tried to put up a fight, but they was helpless
You ain't tryin' to turn that loose, you too selfish

Gimme that, guess who bringin' the, 'get busy' back
Women say the sound of my voice, the aphrodisiac
E-me and when I'm in your town, come see me

The Real World for real, this ain't your MTV
The illest innervisions since Stevie on wax
My vocal like serve on forty-eight tracks
The fact of the matter is a matter of fact

That it's the Black Thought, controllin' like Ike Turner
You wanna get wise, you best to be a fast learner
Or just relax and peep how it's done
And boogie ya ass to what's about to come because

The lesson, now it's now, we close shop
We got it locked, it's over now
Aiyyo Dice's flows, hit idiots like crossbows
Knock 'em out the atlas, push 'em off the atlas
I'm laughin', lookin' down from off top the totem
Hop off my pedastal, grab my scrotum

Aiyyo y'all n***as ain't fuckin' it' this shit
Aiyyo y'all ain't fuckin' wit' the Roots crew

The bouncers were wild, yeah, 'cuz my family bouncin'
Soon as the name, Dice Raw is announced in
The arena, the grass is greener on the other side
I hit the stores, twenty-five thousand die

Now tell who the best in off the top in the world
I'll give you a hint, the same guy that's fuckin' your girl
I just didn't have parents, The Roots found me in the trash
But still, a n***a got a lot of class

Trick wit' my pinky-finger up off the glass
Keep talkin' shit homeboy, that's your ass

The lesson, now it's now, we close shop
We got it locked, it's over now

It's just the simple part of the game
I guess it's just the art of the scam
Check for your soul 'cuz it departed again
Millitant is atomic, you fall from the sky just like a comet
Move out till the bottom of my shoes out
How many tracks do you bout?
How many of these n***as you doubt?
How many of these ladies makin' you shout?

You on a mission so listen to this
Ask yourself, what condition is this?
I'm sick in the wrist, I rap on a satellite dish
You gotta like this

Askin' me about the way that I stroll
About the way I enfold, in scrambling mode
You're like that, don't bark, cat bite back
What up Blood? Is things still the same in the hood?

While I sit I gotta get dub and wish I could plug
They thoughts'll leave 'em stiff in the mud
You wannabe thug in section eight
Houses were hush up under the rug
The shit I spit is hummin' wit' slugs, get soaked in the suds

The lesson, now it's now, we close shop
We got it locked, it's over now

The lesson, now it's now, we close shop
We got it locked, it's over now